


Fever Dreams

by Flynne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Nathan Hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 10:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynne/pseuds/Flynne
Summary: Hawke has seen Justice manifest three times. The fourth time is by far the worst.





	Fever Dreams

Nathan understands that the illness sweeping through Darktown is going to keep Anders busy. But now, facing his third night in a row sleeping alone, he can’t deny that he’s worried. He stops before undressing and stands frowning at the wide, empty bed for a moment longer before letting his breath out in a huff and pulling his boots back on.

Descending through the steep, winding passage from his basement to the back alley near Anders’ clinic doesn’t take long. Although the door is heavy and battered, he’s kept the hinges well oiled, and it swings open easily.

The lantern outside of Anders’ refuge isn’t lit. When Nathan looks through the door, it’s nearly pitch-dark inside, the only light a guttering lantern, oil nearly spent. Anders is slumped at the table, head buried in his folded arms.

Torn between fond exasperation and worry, Nathan crosses the room and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Anders?” He doesn’t respond, and now Nathan is only worried. He gives Anders a little shake, calling his name a bit louder this time. Anders jolts awake, straightening with a gasp that turns into a deep, hacking cough. He turns away from Nathan, covering his mouth and nose with his arm.

“Hey, hold on.” Nathan holds his shoulder a little tighter, steadying him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Anders coughs again before he manages to catch his breath. “It’s fine,” he croaks. “I’m…” He squints up at him in the dim light. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? Checking on you.” Nathan tries to smile, but it doesn’t last long. “I’m glad I did. You sound awful.”

“You shouldn’t be down here.”

“Neither should you. Come on, we’re getting you out of here.”

Anders shies away. “No, you can’t, we can’t risk spreading - ”

Nathan speaks over him, which isn’t hard to do since his voice is a thin rasp. “It won’t spread if the only place you go is our room.”

“You could get sick.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He relaxes his hold on Anders’ shoulder and reaches out to cup his cheek. Despite Anders’ objections, he leans into the touch. His stubble is longer than usual, a half-grown beard scratching against Nathan’s palm, and beneath it his skin is hot and dry. “Come, my dear,” Nathan says softly. “Let’s get you home.”

Anders gives in. He nods once, and goes willingly when Nathan helps him stand. Nathan snuffs the lantern, leading the way back to the passage by memory, shuffling his feet so he doesn’t trip. He’s never before noticed how musty and cold the passage gets at night, but he does now. Anders shivers and leans into him, one arm heavy around his neck while muffling his coughs with his other hand.

By the time they make it to the top of the stairs, Anders is out of breath and stumbling with weariness. Bodhan, Sandal, and Orana went to bed hours ago, and only Sundog is awake to greet them. The mabari is waiting at the passage exit and hovers around them as they make their way up from the basement.

“We’re almost there,” Nathan says encouragingly. They ascend the last flight of stairs and cross the landing to the bedroom.

Anders mostly manages to untangle himself from his clothing on his own before sinking onto the bed. He’s exhausted, but still fights to keep his eyes open. “You shouldn’t sleep next to me,” he says hoarsely, trying again.

“Leave the worrying to me. I’ll give you space if it makes you feel better, but I’m not leaving you alone.” He steps out and returns with an armload of quilts, giving one to Anders and folding the others into a sleeping mat next to the bed. He undresses and bundles himself up in the bedding, pointing an emphatic finger as he orders, “Promise you’ll wake me if you need anything.”

Anders’ smile is wan, but no less warm. “I will.”

“Good.” Nathan waits until Anders is settled before trying to make himself comfortable. It’s harder than he remembers; apparently years of sleeping on a good mattress have made him lose the ability to fall asleep on anything. But even with the hard floor beneath him and the concern that refuses to abate, eventually he falls asleep.  

\--------------------------------

It isn’t a good night. Anders’ coughing wakes them both frequently, and in the morning, he’s worse. He’s shaky and weak, shivering from a high fever, and his voice is so hoarse he can hardly speak. He doesn’t complain when Nathan wipes him down with slightly warmed water in an attempt to cool him off, but he’s shivering so badly afterward that Nathan helps him into soft, warm clothing and gets under the covers with him.

Anders is too ill to protest. He curls into him, hiding his face in Nathan’s neck, breath hot and dry against his skin. Before long, Nathan is sweating, but he pulls another blanket over them both because Anders is shuddering, teeth chattering uncontrollably. The warmth of Nathan’s body seems to bring some relief, but he doesn’t improve. He allows himself to be coaxed into taking water at times throughout the day, and forces himself to drink tea made from willow bark because he knows he should, but the smell of food turns his stomach and he can’t eat. By nightfall his cough has turned thick and wet.

Nathan has no illusions about trying to sleep. He adds more wood to the fire to keep the room warm and sits in a chair by the bed with a book, but he can’t concentrate with the labored rasp of Anders’ breathing. The hours crawl by at a snail’s pace. Anders becomes restless, mumbling broken nonsense and old fears between bouts of ragged coughing. Sick with worry, Nathan takes Anders’ hot, dry hand in both of his. “You’re safe, my dear. You’re not in the Deep Roads. You’re home, you’re with me.” He shifts over to sit on the bed where Anders can see him, reaching out with one hand to brush the hair back from his face.

Anders gradually settles - although it’s impossible to know whether it’s because Nathan has reached him, or because his body is too spent to keep him awake. Nathan slumps back in his chair, swallowing back the lump of tears and anxiety until it settles heavy in his gut.  _I should have checked on him sooner._  Guilt slips its scrabbling fingers into his mind, and he tries not to imagine what might have happened if he’d waited any longer to bring Anders home.

The sound of movement from the bed makes him look up. Anders is sitting up, and for an instant Nathan’s breath catches from sudden hope. But when Anders turns to look at him, he is stone-faced, unnaturally still, staring him down with eyes that flash like lightning.

Cold dread trickles down his back, but he remains outwardly calm, forcing himself to meet the blazing stare without flinching. “Hello, Justice.”

“Hawke.” The spirit’s deep voice sounds mangled coming from Anders’ raw throat.

Nathan watches warily. He’s seen the spirit manifest three times in the years he’s known Anders, but only once has it spoken to him directly like this - a few months back, in the Fade, when Nathan had gone in to save Feynriel. The times Justice has surfaced in the waking world, it has been full of fury, feeding off of Anders’ wrath and pain. Nathan doesn’t know what it means that Justice has come forward now, and it frightens him. “I’d like to speak to Anders,” he says at last.

“He cannot.”

“If he cannot speak to me, I would ask that you let his body rest.”

Justice narrows Anders’ eyes. “He is weak.”

“I know,” Nathan says, bewildered that Justice would waste time to tell him something he already knows. “So if you would please - ”

“No,” Justice interrupts impatiently. “He is weak because of you.”

He recoils as if slapped. “What?”

“You weaken his resolve.”

“What do you mean?”

Justice’s posture wavers as it struggles to fill Anders’ chest with breath enough to answer. “It does not concern you.”

The fear knifing in his belly makes it impossible to keep his voice from shaking, but he refuses to back down. “If it concerns the man I love, it concerns me.”

Justice sneers. “He seems to think so as well.”

Hopelessly confused and helplessly frightened, Nathan can only ask, “Just answer me. He is ill. Can you help him?”

“No.”

He swallows hard. “Then please. Please, I’m begging you, let him rest.”

The weight of Justice’s glare lands on him like granite. “You will not tell him we have spoken.”

“But - ” Confusion chokes him.  _“Justice and I are one,”_  Anders had said.  _“We are the same.”_  But if that were the case…then… _How can you hide things from Anders if you are the same person?_  The question is too dangerous to ask.

Justice’s eyes flare savagely, and Nathan huddles back in the chair away from him. “You will not tell him.”

_I don’t take orders from demons._  But he doesn’t dare say it and risk enraging Justice. He keeps the defiant reply behind his teeth, a burning coal on his tongue.

Either Justice takes his cowering silence as agreement, or Anders’ body is too weak for the spirit to manipulate any longer. The fierce light in his eyes dims and Anders slumps back against the pillows with a heavy sigh, leaving Nathan shaking in the waning firelight.

Several long minutes pass before he can move. He steps out of his boots and climbs into bed fully clothed, carefully sliding in behind Anders. He stretches one leg along either side of his body and cradles him against his chest, hugging him as tightly as he dares. Anders, always a light sleeper, doesn’t rouse in the slightest. Nathan bows his head, letting silent tears slip into Anders’ hair. The untended fire sinks lower on the hearth.

After his fright, he doesn’t expect to be able to sleep, and he doesn’t intend to. But worry, fear, and scant sleep the night before have left him drained and exhausted, and after a surprisingly short time, he drifts off.

\-----------------------------------

He wakes feeling overheated and damp. The fire has waned to barely-glowing embers, gray dawn light is just starting to filter in from outside, and Anders -

\- Anders is sleeping soundly, head nestled beneath Nathan’s chin, and his hair and clothing are soaked with sweat.

Nathan sits up a little, leans forward to see his face. He brushes aside matted blond hair to rest a hand on his forehead. Anders’ skin is clammy, but he’s cooler than he has been. His breathing is too shallow and too fast, but the ominous rattle in his chest has eased. Weak with relief, Nathan presses a fervent kiss to his forehead and slumps back against the pillows.

Sooner than he could have hoped, Anders stirs. Nathan shifts him slightly in his arms and leans forward a little so he can see his face. He smiles when hazy brown eyes open and track over to his face. “Good morning.”

Air catches in Anders’ chest as he tries to answer, and he curls forward in a violent fit of coughing. Nathan helps him sit up. He thumps his back with one hand while stretching out with the other to pick up an empty cup left on the bedside table.

Anders takes the cup when it’s pressed into his hands but has no breath to speak. He hacks painfully, spitting into the cup more than once before making a revolted noise and moving it aside.

Nathan takes it without comment, setting it back on the table before gathering Anders close again. “How do you feel?” he asks gently.

“Not…particularly charming,” Anders says, wincing as the act of talking sears his throat. “And terrible.” He shuts his eyes and leans into Nathan’s hand slowly petting his hair.

“That’s all right,” Nathan murmurs against the top of his head. “According to Varric, he’s cornered the market on charm anyway.” The huff of air that leaves Anders’ chest isn’t a laugh, but it’s a response, and Nathan will take what he can get. He can’t suppress a shudder, thinking about those dark hours after midnight. The encounter with Justice has left a brick of ice in his stomach, and his heart thumps uneasily, not knowing what he should say…or if he should say anything.

Even ill and completely wrung out, Anders notices his tension. He gives Nathan a little nudge where his head rests against his chest. “What's wrong?”

Nathan doesn’t know what to do. Not about this. And even if he wanted to tell Anders what happened, now is not the time.  

But his beloved needs him, and he knows what to do about that. So he sighs, shoves his reservations deep down, drops another kiss on his brow. “I’m fine, my dear,” he says softly. And, because it’s the truth, he adds, “I have only been…very worried for you.”

Anders lifts a shaky hand and rests it reassuringly on the arm lying across his chest. The simple gesture pierces Nathan's heart, and he holds him closer, allowing his relief to come to the fore, blanking out everything else.

He’s too warm beneath Anders and the layers of blankets. His day-old clothing is uncomfortably rumpled and beginning to feel sticky from both Anders’ sweat and his own, and his body is sending him signals that he’s going to have to get up soon. When he does, he’ll get them both cleaned up, put fresh sheets on the bed, and ask Orana to heat some broth; but for now he ignores all of it, content for the moment to remain where he is, with Anders heavy and safe in his arms.


End file.
